


Leather and Steel

by MountainRose



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anger management for supersoldiers, Angry Steve, Dominant Tony, Feral Behavior, Full and explicit consent, Happy Ending, M/M, No Sex, Non-sexual bongage, Steve Feels, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony knows how to help, Tony's got it covered., anger issues, but Steve isn't subbing out here; he's too pissed for that, but not a 'happy ending', but still NSFW, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve shouldered his way into the workshop, the collar’s spikes digging divots into the palms of his hands. Tony was working, welding with goggles on his face and thick apron over his bare chest, but Jarvis cut the gas the moment Steve opened the door. Tony put the torch down, but his budding smile faded into a deadly-serious glower the moment Steve slammed the collar down on the bench.</p>
<p>The sheet metal rang with the impact and Steve leaned in, knuckles planted on either side of the heavy-duty collar.</p>
<p>“I consent,” he snarled.</p>
<p>(See notes for warnings)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather and Steel

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Black](https://archiveofourown.org/works/892360) by [Jazz_s_shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazz_s_shadow/pseuds/Jazz_s_shadow). 



> and her series 'Collars', particularly the discussion in the comments.  
> It's not necessary to read those first, but they're good. As always; check the tags! Each collar is a different request, from Steve to Tony, or one of the other Avengers.  
> Consent is explicitly negotiated off screen.  
> DO NOT try this method of anger management at home! If you want to destroy something, find something you wont miss and _do it_. Steve can't find anything that would exhaust him and let him work out the anger in that way because of his supersoldier metabolism and the psychological implications of being so much stronger than the people around him.

 

Steve shouldered his way into the workshop, the collar’s spikes digging divots into the palms of his hands. Tony was working, welding with goggles on his face and thick apron over his bare chest, but Jarvis cut the gas the moment Steve opened the door. Tony put the torch down, but his budding smile faded into a deadly-serious glower the moment Steve slammed the collar down on the bench.

The sheet metal rang with the impact and Steve leaned in, knuckles planted on either side of the heavy-duty collar.

“I consent,” he snarled, teeth bared and chest heaving with undirected anger, when Tony pushed the dark-glass goggles up to his forehead.

Tony put the torch down and wasted no time in pulling off his welding gloves. Apron still on, he picked up the collar; four kilos of steel-reinforced leather, two inches wide with heavy titanium studs in a double row all the way around.

He fastened it around Steve’s neck quickly and competently and the weight made Steve’s heart ramp up. He swallowed and his adams apple pressed against the tough leather; just tight enough to constrict if he moved his head too far in any direction.

“Give me a number, Steve,” Tony demanded, fingers digging under the collar for a firm grip and _tugging_. Steve reared against it and snarled in his face.

“ _Ten.”_

Tony’s face hardened and he _pulled._ Steve growled and hauled back, shaking his head and letting the anger rear up.

“Down,” Tony barked, eyes narrowed, and Steve resisted, grin growing violent and gratitude mixing with the bubbling anger. The leather bit into the back of his neck and his whole body shook with the urge to _move,_ to strike and damage and destroy.

“Yeah? Okay then.” Tony let go of Steve’s collar, and he had to stand there, trembling with the effort it took to control himself while Tony and Dummy rigged the armor assembly platform up with Steve’s restraints.

At a ten, self-control was almost impossible, but Tony was Tony, and shoved a bar of copper an inch across in his hands as a stopgap. It screamed when he bent it at right angles, the deformation making the metal hot under his fingers. Again, and the metal started to harden, making it harder and harder to bend. Steve’s fingers whitened with the full force of his grip and the frustrated snarl built at the back of his throat as he bent and twisted and ruined the bar.

It wasn’t enough, but he was distracted, at least, when Tony’s grip on his collar returned. By holding tight at the back of his neck, Tony could heave and just about get Steve moving. The constriction on his throat felt solid and stabilizing; like he could fight and it wouldn’t break, but Steve held onto his control for just a little longer; the collar would hold, but Tony couldn't.

Steve panted, grunting, and put one foot behind the other; it was better if he couldn’t see the next bit coming. He dropped the metal, now unrecognisable with kinks and stress fractures, and reached out sideways.

Tony’s hands landed on his shoulders, firm but gentling; an uncomfortable reminder to control himself.

“Get your shirt off, Steve, you roast in it at six, let alone ten.”

Logical enough, and Steve had some logic left, at least. He let his arms drop and stood there, muscles shivering, while Tony peeled the uniform off. He managed to obey Tony’s body language enough to raise his arms, the cool air of the workshop feeling unexpectedly good on his already-sweaty skin.

“Alright, Steve,” Tony murmured from just behind his head as Dummy whirred off with the shirt. “Color?”

“You said--” Steve snarled, unable to hold himself still. His fists clenched and his shoulders tucked in, his body coiling up for violence.

Tony’s hand landed on his back, hard and yielding simultaneously. Steve shivered and pushed back, reaching for a final reserve of stability.

“You’ve never given me a ten before, this is going to be tough. Color.” Tony’s voice had turned strong, verbal chains to supplement the physical collar.

“Green, Tony, just fucking--” Hard rubber manacles snapped down over Steve’s wrists, coming out of the dead-space steve had refused to let himself see. His ankles were hauled out from under him, and he thumped to his knees on something with just enough give to prevent him breaking his kneecaps. His arms were pulled up above his head and _now._

He snarled and tugged on the restraints, face screwed up in rage. The machines holding him had just enough give for him to strain, and strain and pull and _heave_ with every muscle in his body without breaking himself.

The machinery, obviously, held.

He kicked out, only his boots protecting his feet from the violent skid across matting, but he had no leverage. He bucked and thrashed and pulled, but nothing gave, nothing broke.

Deep satisfaction billowed out of his stomach, raw and hot, but there was more, there was always more.

His mouth felt empty and dangerous, the urge to rip and destroy manifesting in between his teeth as he panted. He dropped into the restraints for a second,  his chest heaving like an angry stallions’, and Tony’s work boots appeared in the corner of his eye. The movement in his peripheral vision was more than enough to set him off again, this time lunging with head and shoulders, snarl ripping out of his throat and teeth snapping closed on air.

Tony was standing on the other side of the Line, safe for now, but Steve could see the imminent change in the way he pulled a pair of plate-mail gauntlets on, the heavy leather and steel clicking.

“You’re gonna chip enamel if you keep that up, Cap,” he commented with a frown. Steve was beyond speaking by this point, and the words just reminded him of the empty space between his teeth. It was Tony’s job to keep him for hurting anyone, and the engineer had made it clear at their ‘problem solving’ session that that included Steve.

Steve wasn’t supposed to suppress anything by this point, and he’d learnt the lesson the first time he’d come down still angry, so he yelled, and pulled and snapped his jaws on air.

“Yeah, thats what I thought,” Tony muttered, heading behind Steve again and leaving him without an outlet. He dropped his head and focused the burning well of energy on struggling and pulling and heaving, secure in the knowledge that he couldn’t escape.

Next thing he know, cold, oiled, leather was dropping over his shoulders. Tony hooked it to the collar at the back, and two inch-wide straps dropped down his shoulders to a thick band at chest height. Tony hauled the band tight around his ribs, closing it at the back with three buckles, rattling with the ring of steel reinforcement. Steve pulled in a deep breath, pushing his chest against the band, wanting to feel it, hard and tight and _safe_ against his ribs, and Tony pulled on the top buckle.

The band tightened, almost an inch, pressing in against muscle and making breathing feel worthwhile again. Steve slowly switched from panting and huffing to deep, steady, powerful heaves, air rushing through his throat and over his teeth with a dull roar. The shift gave him a fresh burst of energy and he pulled and thrashed in the harness, his tugging inadvertently pulling against Tony’s grip and forcing the band tighter.

Tony cinched it up, one buckle at a time, rolling up and down the set of three, inching each one closed until Steve was breathing with his stomach, deep and even, and never letting Steve’s struggles pull one too tight, too quickly. Once the band was as tight as it would go, Tony pulled the shoulder straps down, clipping them to it and then to Steve’s belt. They pulled and tugged on the ‘chute harness in his uniform when he flexed his torso on a growl; constricting, satisfying. A second set of heavier straps went from the band to the floor, through D-rings on his belt, and he thrashed against those too. Steadily, painlessly, Tony was pulling him in, wearing him down.

 

But... it still wasn’t... Steve still pulled and strained; it wasn’t _enough_. He could still destroy anyone who got too close, and his head hung, teeth feeling like a weapon and hair shadowing his eyes in sweaty clumps.

The clink of smooth metal behind him made him flinch and snap, a snarl building as he turned against the restriction of the collar, finally unable to hold to his last rule. Tony’s eyes flashed and Steve knew that looking round was like admitting to having broken open; it was time to really get started.

A gag hung carefully between Tony’s now-gauntleted hands, and Steve turned back forwards, breathing deep in a way the collar had prevented him from doing, twisted like that. With lungs as full as they could get, he settled into a powerful heave, his muscles passing through exertion and into _burning._ Leather creaked and stretched slightly, but the steel within it held fast, and Tony waited him out.

The hard clench of his jaw loosened as he came back down, air exhausted, and his mouth slipped open for a bare second, but it was all Tony needed to slip the gag between his teeth. Steve shook his head, not willing to go down easily, but Tony hauled on the straps, keeping the leather-covered bar firmly between his molars.

A knee pressed into the space between his shoulderblades, forcing him forwards, arching his neck, and Tony pulled the straps back and down. Steve stared straight up into the spotlight, feeling almost hypnotized for a brief second, before Tony’s hand appeared, cliping the smaller strips off the gag onto the back of the collar, making sure it wouldn’t slip sideways and doubly assuring he couldn’t spit it out, even if Tony had to ease up.

Again, Steve couldn’t resist the movement, and turned, neck muscles straining and jaw opening around the gag before snapping almost-shut a bare quarter-inch from Tony’s armored hands. A rough pull on the straps hauled Steve’s head back around, and he pressed forwards into the gag, molars working over the leather until his jaw ached with the force and he could taste oil-and-steel.

A deep blow-out of air rumbled around the gag as Steve’s chest emptied all at once, but it was a brief reprieve; the rank, raw frustration that had driven Steve here in the first place reared its head and Steve reared with it. He hauled against harness and restraint, letting the leather and steel do the work of the vast amounts of self control he had exercised to get through the days conflict.

They had gotten _nowhere_ , and people were _dying_ and there was _nothing he could do._ His snarling yell broke in his throat and his concerted efforts to pull against Tony, to _test_ , devolved into mindless pounding against the limits.

He couldn’t stop, shouldn’t’ve tried, even, and just _kept struggling_. Time stretched on, and he felt the gag shift as Tony changed his grip and worked on cushioning Steve’s thrashing, but nothing broke. Not in his strongest moments did anything give more than a precise, dampened quarter-inch.

 A high whine built and shivered in his throat and one by one, his muscles gave out, exhausted and leaving him hanging securely in the harness.

Silence.

The workshop had a heartbeat, certain machines that never stopped, Dummy’s cooling fan, the soft hum of the refrigerator. For the first time since he’d come down, Steve felt like he could hear again, like there was detail in the world.

Tony’s knee eased away from his spine and the careful pull on the gag shifted. Still there, still keeping him grounded and toothless, but not something to heave against anymore. The straps slipped down his back, and Tony hitched them to the band around his chest. If Steve tilted forwards slightly, he could just get the gag to press into his teeth, but there was no force there. He slumped forwards a little more, resting on collar and gag and letting his abused muscles do nothing at all, if they wanted.

Erratic shivers and twitches rippled over his skin, the ghosts of exertion, but that was fine. Steve felt calm, easy and rooted, for the first time in weeks.

A faint pop sounded behind him, followed by an easy, pleased groan, and Steve huffed out a laugh, his eyes closing and tears starting to roll down his face and along the lines of the gag’s straps. A faint sob worked its way out of his throat, or maybe it was another laugh; either way, it felt free and natural and _good_ in the calm, after the mess he’d been before.

“Shhh, shh, I know...” Tony’s hand smoothed over the muscles of his shoulders, down his sides and along the edges of the chest band, checking, soothing. Although the cool air was welcome, Tony’s warm hands were too, and Steve felt the urge to lash out bubble and die, overwhelmed by hard-earned catharsis.

It was done, _he_ was done.

Tony knew, he always knew, and gentle latex-gloved fingers touched Steve’s lips. The were wet, and Steve wanted the water like nothing else at that moment, so he opened his mouth and licked them. It was just a few drops, just enough wet his lips where the leather had dried them out.

Tony seemed to want to feel Steve’s teeth, so he eased his mouth open, reluctantly releasing the gag, surprised when it stuck a little, where he had punched into the leather. Tony probed and wiggled, pressing against Steve’s teeth and dipping under his tongue, and then took his fingers away. Steve leaned back into the gag, letting it hold his head up, while Tony looked as his spit-slick fingers. They were still white, not red, so Tony kissed him gently on the temple and stepped away, peeling the glove off and throwing it in the trash.

Steve stopped watching at that point and closed his eyes, secure and calm.

Time slipped again, slow or fast, Steve couldn’t tell, but half-inch by half-inch, the band around his ribs loosened. Constricting straps unclipped one by one, first left to hang reminder against his skin, then slipping away completely some time later. His ankles were freed, and Tony pressed him into an easy, comfortable kneel as his wrists were lowered slightly, the cuffs loosening from restraint to support. At long last, the chest band slipped away, leaving just the collar and gag while Tony lowered him down onto something cool and soft.

Gently, and oh-so-slowly, Tony eased the bar-gag out of his mouth, gentling and smoothing over irritated and bruised skin. The collar followed, replaced by the gentle press of Tony’s hand to ease the transition. A press that turned slowly into a reverent cradling of Steve’s head as Tony lowered him the last inch onto a pillow.

Steve heard Dummy whir up, the smell of lemon and steam arriving with him, and he just lay there, on a cot that smelled like Tony and engines, while the engineer himself rubbed away sweat and the imprints of restraint with a hot cloth that smelled like lemons.

An equally hot towel later, and Tony was covering him with a blanket, warm and dry and comfortable, and taking off his boots.

Steve briefly wondered why he wasn’t asleep just yet, but then Tony lay down beside him, and Steve slipped away, nodding off before he had a chance to put his arms around him.


End file.
